He was being blatantly manipulated...and enjoying it. A happy little growl trilled in the back of his throat as her fingers burrowed deep into his hair, as she leaned into him so he could feel every soft, inviting curve barely contained by silky scraps of lace and satin. He had to give her credit: she was well versed in the art of subtlety, assaulting him not with her body, but the promise of it. She never took him straight to bed, never disrobed for him at the drop of a hat...she teased him like this, and she let him strip away every stitch to reach the treasures of her body all on his own.

She was far too young to be so bloody conniving. Klaus was well aware he was a lucky man.

"And action," he murmured between kisses, trailing a hand up her bare thigh to creep under the hem of her nightgown, "is precisely what Marcel needs to see." Beneath the fabric, he cupped her ass, smoothing a thumb appreciatively over her flank as he pulled her still closer. "You tempt me, love, but tempt is all you do. I happen to be a stronger man than you give me credit for."

And he fully intended to be strong...after one more kiss. Just one more...